


What's the Price of Heroes?

by rabidchild67



Series: Of Conmen and Angels [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Character Death, Child Abandonment, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Multi, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Diana discover more than they expected when they go undercover at an illegal auction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's the Price of Heroes?

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a lyric from the song “Swan Swan H” by REM.
> 
> Check out the lovely art by Nioell inspired by this story [here](http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/268/f/0/f0eb7edb87e92067e9431558a174f45b-d5fnqdv.png)

“Are you an angel?” Peter breathed, awe-struck. He didn’t realize he’d spoken.

Neal turned his head to face him, and his features suddenly seemed so alien, that Peter flinched to be caught by those piercing eyes. He only barely resisted the urge to fall to his knees.

“I don’t know what I am,” Neal answered, and his expression resolved itself into one of sorrow, shame. He grimaced as he furled the wings against himself, suddenly self-conscious, and the dark light that seemed somehow to come from within him dissipated. “How did you find me?”

“I will always find you,” Peter reminded him quietly.

Neal nodded imperceptibly, gave a small, sad smile. “I remember. Still, you shouldn’t have come. They’ll never let you leave.”

“I’m an invited guest,” Peter said with a quirk to his lips. “Here for the auction, and now that I see what’s on the block, it makes me sick. We thought it was exotic animals – bird or big cats or something. But this? It’s sick.”

“Tell me you’ve got a plan, that you can put a stop to it, Peter. There are others here. Children. Being sold like animals, oddities.”

“Jesus, Neal. Why haven’t you left? Flown away?”

Neal fingered the delicate collar at his throat; Peter hadn’t noticed it before. “This. Better than any tracker the FBI ever used. If I get more than half a mile from this island it’ll blow my head off.”  
`  
Peter took a step forward, reached out his hand in comfort, but Neal reared back, his wings held aloft, and that terrible light seemed to shine out of him once again. He seemed bigger, somehow, inhuman – no, more than human. Peter shrank back and when Neal noticed, he apologized, folded himself up again. He held his arms across his bare chest and shivered, averting his eyes.

“I’m so sorry Neal. I had no idea...”

“Don’t be sorry. Be Peter. Make it stop.”

\----

Diana checked herself out in the mirror of her room in the guest quarters and thought to herself, “Yeah, you’re definitely working it.” The blood red silk dress hugged her hips just right, the neckline skimmed over her breasts enticingly. She pinched her nipples until they stood out like raisins – they were her best accessory. Then she checked to be sure the gun in her thigh holster was invisible – it was her favorite accessory.

It was still unclear what the “merchandise” being auctioned off was, but judging by some of the people she’d seen arriving in just the last couple of hours, it had to be very high-end and likely illegal. If she’d known who to expect, she’d have come with a fist full of warrants – the guest list was a who’s who of international scum - arms dealers, drug kingpins and smugglers rubbing shoulders with Wall Street bigwigs and dirty dealers.

She didn’t know how Caffrey was mixed up in all of this – didn’t care, really, except that it mattered to Peter. The ex-con had disappeared without a trace shortly after his sentence was up over a year ago, leaving a heartbroken Burke family in his wake. Not even Moz knew where he’d gone off to, or so he said, but the fact that chatter about him had begun at exactly the same time that this big investigation came to a head was too much of a coincidence for her.

This smuggling ring was big, there was no doubt about it. Their initial investigation had uncovered what looked to be a vast global network with ties to organized crime, money laundering, cybercrime and more. From what they could piece together, the auction that was being held this weekend was a semi-annual affair, and its broad appeal was evident from the extensive guest list. But she still had no idea what was being auctioned off – none of the guests did, which was apparently the point of the event to begin with. Rumors were running rampant, and their source had only been able to say that it would be “big game.” She hoped it wasn’t endangered species.

She glanced at her watch - 10:00 pm – time to make her appearance. She inserted her earbud and tested the connection. “Jones, can you hear me?” she said.

“Loud and clear, Di,” he said.

“Wish you could see me, I look _good_.” she quipped.

“I do too, but not for the reason you think,” he said. His voice was tight, worried. Jones sat in a high-tech communications room on a Coast Guard cutter just off the coast. The island this event was being held on had proven to be a logistical nightmare, and knowing that backup was more than thirty minutes out didn’t do much to quell the nerves of any member of the team. Only Diana’s alias as a high-end madam with ties to European royalty had been well-placed enough to garner an invitation, and Peter was along as her guest.

“Has Peter checked in yet?” she asked.

“Not yet. Guess you’re going solo.”

“I can handle it.” She reapplied her lipstick, grabbed her clutch and headed poolside for the cocktail party.

\----

The funny thing about cocktail parties, Diana reflected, was that they were all the same. Whether it was the annual fundraiser at the hospital where your new wife worked, or a room populated by a who’s who of international criminals, the same predictable conversations about the same banal topics cropped up no matter what.

She was discussing an investment portfolio she was making up on the spot with a man who described himself as a “hacker for hire” when a murmur in her ear alerted her to the fact that Peter was again online.

“Di, I’m on my way to you now,” he whispered curtly.

At the same time, there was a commotion among the party guests at the far end of the infinity pool that dominated the large patio and garden where the party was being held.

She turned, as most did, when a short blast of trumpets (she couldn’t suppress an eye-roll) announced the arrival of their mysterious host. The pool had been constructed overlooking the edge of a terraced part of the garden with, she had noticed earlier, a very sheer drop of at least twenty-five feet. A pair of spots from somewhere turned on to illuminate the scene, and within seconds he appeared, as if he was emerging from the pool on a cloud of air. Except he wasn’t being raised up on a platform or by any other mechanical means.

Each of his arms was being held by a young man, draped in Grecian-style robes, their hair curled and cascading to their shoulders, adorned with flowers. And, Diana noticed, each of the children – for neither could have been older than fifteen - was being held aloft by a set of large, graceful, improbable _wings_.

“Oh my God,” Diana breathed, and she wasn’t the only one in the crowd to react to the wonder of the scene. For the wings on the boys were not costumes, nor were they special effects makeup. They were very obviously real, and they fluttered gracefully and in perfect synchrony as their owners maneuvered themselves and their human cargo to the edge of the patio and set him down on the ground to an eruption of applause.

The man held up a hand, waved to his guests, and spoke. “I thank you, my friends and associates, for the warm applause. More importantly, now you all know the answer to the question that’s been on everyone’s minds all evening – the items that will be at auction tomorrow.” He laid his hands fondly on the head of each child. They didn’t react, and from their blank expressions, Diana wondered if they had been drugged.

“Come closer, you can speak with them, touch them. There will be five more to choose from tomorrow,” the man said, and gently propelled the young people forward to meet his guests. As he moved through the crowd that now thronged around him, out of the light that had been dazzling her eyes, Diana recognized him and nearly couldn’t contain the shock on her face.

“Di, I’ll be there in five minutes,” Peter’s voice came over her earbud.

She turned away from the crowd and pretended to be interested in a tray of champagne that was being passed. “Stay away, Peter. Whatever you do, don’t come anywhere near here!” she whispered urgently into her champagne glass. “I’m about to meet our host and it’s Matthew Keller!”

\----  
“Shit!” Peter exclaimed and dove for a nearby stand of lilacs. The lights from the main house were throwing shadows and he could see his own behind him. He needed to get to safety – fast.

He and Diana had arrived mid-afternoon, and if any of the ample and quite visible security had recognized him as an enemy of their boss, they didn’t make any indication. Hoping they were all new and that Keller hadn’t taken a personal hand in overseeing every detail, he figured Diana’s cover was intact. Still, it wouldn’t do for her to be compromised.

“Diana,” he talked as he moved away from the house. “I don’t think you’re cover’s necessarily blown. Keller has never seen you, and if they’d made me while we were together this afternoon, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’m going to continue my recon on the rest of the property. I want you to stay at the party. Stay clear of Keller, but keep observing.”

“Will do, boss.”

Peter retreated to a spot behind the low stone wall that surrounded the formal garden at the back of the property to think and regroup. What a day it had been. He’d arrived expecting a tricky, dangerous undercover assignment; their orders were to gather information on the auction, its key players, the people participating and nothing more. Since they could only really get him and Diana onto the island, there was no way to bust everyone; the plan had been to gather any evidence and, if there was probable cause, call the rest of the team in with the Coast Guard as backup if it became practical to do so.

He’d set out earlier to scope out the place, had stuck to well-traveled areas of the grounds, trying to get a general feel for the place and its security features. What his trained eyes had found was a very subtly yet heavily guarded near-fortress, which he didn’t think would be an easy take-down for the small force they’d brought. He was heading back to the room he and Diana had been assigned when he’d been quite literally carried away by a large and powerful creature that descended on him from the sky.

Neal. Peter barely had words to describe what he’d seen. That wasn’t strictly true – there were pretty simple words to describe it. Neal had wings, and he could fly. And apparently he and several winged creatures – people, they were _people_ , Peter needed to remind himself – were being held against their will in this place. And if Peter didn’t do something about it, they’d all be sold as pets or medical specimens or God knew what else in less than 24 hours.

But how had it happened? Why? Had Neal been imprisoned here this entire time, by Keller? The thought filled him with such a murderous rage he could barely think straight. But none of Peter’s hundred or more questions were answered, because they went unasked.

Because how _could_ he ask? Neal was in such obvious pain, had clearly been through some type of trauma, and in spite of all of it only wanted Peter to help him save the other captives. That Neal would do this was not a surprise to Peter, but it made him so damn proud, it put a lump in his throat. And Peter wouldn’t cheapen it or Neal’s ordeal by asking questions that would only satisfy his own curiosity. Neal would tell him when he could.

What Neal _did_ tell him were the ins and outs of the place: holes in the security system that Peter and his agents could exploit when the time came, movements of security teams, the location of the generators, power grid, RAN towers for mobile communications. He’d drawn a map for Peter, given whatever specs he could, and Peter had spent the last several hours locating and evaluating the strengths and weaknesses. He’d gotten as far as he dared when he realized it was time to join Diana at the party, and now he was glad for the thoroughness that delayed him. Had Keller found him, it would have been disastrous.

Peter decided to head down to the docks to scope them out. Neal hadn’t shared any intel on the area, but Peter reasoned it could prove useful if he and Diana needed to get out in a hurry. He stuck to the shadows at the perimeter, so it took over an hour to get there. Unfortunately, it also meant he was stuck inside the boat house as the guards made their twice-nightly scheduled sweep.

Peter crouched down behind a storage locker, praying they would not see him, but unfortunately, the light from one of the guards’ flashlights cast a shadow that gave him away. “You there!” he bellowed, drawing his pistol. “Come out from behind there, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Thinking fast, Peter stood, then stumbled against the locker, sending a crate of mooring buoys crashing to the floor. “Oopsie! ‘m sssorry,” he slurred, blinking at the men owlishly and pretending to be drunk off his ass. “I was trying to meet my girlfriend here for a li’l nookie,” he pressed his index finger against his lips. “Shhhh…’m not s’posed to, cuz my wife…my wife…my _wife_ …”

“Yeah, your wife?” the guard said impatiently.

“Don’t you talk shit on my wife!” Peter barked, holding up a hand.

“I got news for ya, buddy: she ain’t coming,” the guard said, grabbing Peter by the bicep. He held his radio to his mouth and was about to report back when a high-pitched squeal suddenly emitted from Peter’s earbud.

“Augh!” Peter yelled, wincing, and covered his ear with his hand. The guard snatched his hand away and held it fast while the other one snatched the earbud from his ear and looked at it.

“What’s this?”

“Hearing aid?” Peter said, knowing how unconvincing he sounded.

“Yeah, I don’t think so, buddy. Who are you? Who’re you communicating with?”

“I do private security for one of the guests. I was checking out the perimeter.”

“Yeah, try again,” the second guard said, peering at the tiny piece electronics. “This piece is government issue. You a Fed?”

Peter thought it best to keep his mouth shut at that point.

One of the guards produced a zip tie from somewhere and as he went to fasten Peter’s hands together, Peter shoved him against the other man in an attempt to escape. There was no way he could help Neal if he was captured, he reasoned. But his efforts were for nothing; one of the men connected with a right across Peter’s jaw and he went down on one knee. An uppercut sent him to the floor, and when someone kicked him in the head, he knew no more.

\----

“Wake up!” Peter heard, then felt the sting of an open-handed slap across his face. He jumped, opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. He was in a brightly-lit room, sitting in a chair, and Matthew Keller was standing over him.

“Special Agent Peter Burke, as I live and breathe,” he said smugly.

“Keller.” Peter tried to keep his tone even. The man held all the cards and it wouldn’t do to antagonize him.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised though, really,” Keller mused. “I should have known you’d come for your boy eventually.” He glanced across the room, and Peter followed his eyes to where Neal stood against the wall. Neal was unmoving, a neutral expression on his face, but Peter could read his body language better than anyone, saw the muscles in his jaw bunch as he clenched his teeth, the intent way his eyes followed Keller. He was like a coiled spring, and Peter didn’t want to see what would happen when he finally let that anger boil over.

“Neal?” Peter said, trying to pretend he was seeing him for the first time. It wasn’t hard – the sight of him was still mind boggling. “What – what have you done to him?” he asked Keller.

“He’s a seraph now. Genetic mutation. No one knows what makes them change, but Neal here was one of the first in my collection. Isn’t he beautiful?” There was real awe in his voice. “He’s like a Bernini sculpture.”

Peter saw Neal’s wings move reflexively, and his eyes flashed.

“He wants to kill me,” Keller said, his voice matter-of-fact. “But that little collar I gave him stops that, doesn’t it Neal?” He pulled a small device from his pocket and showed it to Peter. “Remote control. Neal won’t attack me because he knows I can kill him with the press of a button. Or one of his little friends downstairs.” Neal’s eyes filled with angry tears. “He suffers prettily, don’t you think?”

“You’re a right bastard, Keller,” Peter said, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Ain’t that why you love me?” Keller said, his tone light, but he kept his eyes on Neal.

“So you’re a human trafficker now? You sell people?”

“I’m a businessman, I supply things people demand. And once this auction is over, there will be quite the demand for creatures like our friend here. I always thought Caffrey could make me rich – I just had no idea how.”

“There will be no auction. I’ll stop it,” Peter said with a conviction he didn’t feel.

“You’re hardly in a position to threaten anything, Burke. What’s to stop me from killing you now?” He pulled a gun from a pocket and cocked it, aimed at Peter’s head.

Peter stared into Keller’s eyes and knew immediately he wasn’t bluffing. “Nothing, clearly.”

Keller dropped his hand, held the gun along his thigh. “But like I said, I’m a business man, and businessmen need insurance. With you as a hostage, Burke, all of this goes off without a hitch. I don’t know where your little friends are, and I don’t care. With you here, they won’t lift a finger and we both know it.”

Peter breathed through his nose, trying to calm himself; he knew Keller was right and it was killing him.

Suddenly there was a hard glint in Keller’s eyes. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t get to have fun with you first,” he said and, cocking his arm, he backhanded Peter across the face with his gun hand. Peter saw stars, cursed, and looked up at Keller through watering eyes, expecting the beating of his life.

Keller raised his arm to hit him again, but there was a blur of movement in the corner of Peter’s eye and suddenly Neal was on Keller, a hand at his throat. He had moved so fast that Peter couldn't track it, yet there he was, bouncing Keller’s head off of a nearby wall with a sickening thud.

“Neal!” Peter cried, but he ignored him. Peter could see the muscles bunching in Neal’s forearm, the set of his back as he bore down. His wings fanned out slightly, giving him more leverage.

Keller fumbled with his right hand, to find something in his pocket – his remote. Surely, Peter thought, he wouldn't activate the explosives at Neal’s throat with himself in such close proximity. Peter rose to his feet, intent on pulling Neal off of Keller. “Neal!” he repeated.

But Keller got his hand on the device and pushed a button. Peter heard a high-pitched whine and Neal suddenly stiffened. He dropped his hand and fell to the floor, his wings stretched to support his back, which arched in agony as he clawed at the collar around his neck, screaming. Panting, Keller advanced on him, still depressing the button on the remote, a sadistic and angry look in his eyes as Neal’s screams reached a crescendo. “I have told you –“ Keller gasped, but didn’t finish. Neal had already passed out and lay there unmoving.

Peter dropped to his knees at Neal’s side, felt for a pulse.

“He’s not dead,” Keller assured him. He crossed the room to a door and knocked on it. Someone unlocked it from the other side and Keller opened it. “And he knows better than that. Or he should by now. You should tell him. He’s valuable, but it doesn’t mean I won’t kill him. I’d consider it an acceptable loss.”

“Fuck you, Keller,” Peter spat out.

Keller just laughed and closed the door behind him.

\----

Diana returned to her room to change for the auction. A champagne reception was scheduled for 3:00 pm, where the guests could mingle with the “merchandise,” and she didn’t think she ought to miss it.

The big reveal the previous night of the items up for sale had nearly made her physically ill. Watching Keller show the young people off around the party like a pair of prized dogs made her nearly boil over with a rage she could do nothing about. Exacerbating her feelings of ineffectiveness, she had had to remain on the periphery of the party for fear that Keller might recognize her, so she didn’t have a chance to learn as much about her fellow guests as she’d have liked. The sight of some of the guests staring lasciviously at the children had proven almost too much, and so she called it an early night.

Thoughts of what the day would hold meant she got almost no sleep, and the fact that Peter had gone dark did not help. It was bad enough that Peter could not return to their room, but Jones reported he’d missed his scheduled check-in, which made Diana more worried than ever. She sincerely hoped he’d just decided to stay out of sight and had made an unfortunate choice for a place to hole up that was out of communications range. This sting would not go off without him to make the call.

She donned an off-white linen pant suit and arranged her hair in a sleek ponytail. The clothes gave her more range of movement with the added bonus of being able to stow her backup weapon inside the larger purse that went with the outfit. She applied lipstick, looked at herself in the mirror and said, “You can do this. In a few more hours, all these scumbags will be in cuffs. You _have to do this_.”

She plastered a confident look on her face that she did not feel and headed downstairs.

The auction was being held in the same space as the previous evening’s party. A dais had been set up at one end, with chairs set in rows, a light buffet at the back. The patio was already crowded when she arrived – her fellow guests were eager to see, touch and speak to the “seraphs” as Keller had called them. Diana had to suppress a shudder whenever someone referred to them as “merchandise.”

She wasn’t there ten minutes when movement in the sky outside attracted everyone’s attention. The winged people were spotted flying overhead, approaching in a V-formation; when they got closer to the adjacent gardens they began diving and swooping through the air above their heads, to the wonder and delight of those gathered. Diana had to admit that the sight was awe-inspiring; the seraphs moved with a grace and fluidity she didn’t think would come naturally to most people. As they had been the night before, they appeared to be dressed in the style of ancient Greece – Keller was nothing if not a consummate showman, Diana thought, because they all looked like they’d tumbled off of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

The flying demonstration apparently over, the seraphs began to land on the patio along a roped-off corridor through the center of the space. First to arrive were the two teen boys from the night before; they were apparently fraternal twins and would be sold together. Next came a blonde boy of about eight or nine, holding onto the hand of a young Asian woman in her mid-twenties; she ushered him along with a hand on his shoulder when they landed, and stood with a protective arm around his collarbone when they’d reached their mark. Next came an African man who looked to be near forty and a tall blonde woman of about twenty; Diana thought the two would be better suited to posing in a fashion ad than being in this godforsaken place. The young woman clutched onto the man’s hand as they walked along the carpet, her face a mask of fear, and Diana had to suppress the urge to hit something.

The last one to arrive was a white male with pale skin and dark hair. As he approached the assembled crowd, he swooped in and hovered above their heads at a height of about twelve feet. His wings beat slowly, grandly, the air they displaced ruffling the hair and clothing of the guests. He slowly descended to the floor, his hands held before him as if in benediction, and when he finally landed, there wasn’t a sound in the room. He looked around, blue eyes flashing with a ferocity and defiance the others had not displayed. The crowd was at once rapt and alarmed, for none of the others had projected such sheer _power_.

“Oh my God,” Diana breathed, her voice quavering as she recognized the man.

“What?” came Jones’ voice in her ear.

She turned around and headed for the edge of the room, trying to get out of earshot of the rest of the guests – this was not difficult since most of them were busy crowding the roped-off area where the seraphs stood. “It’s Neal!” she whispered. “Neal Caffrey is one of them. He’s up for sale, Clinton!”

Neal strode slowly down the roped-off corridor, looking each guest that he encountered directly in the eye. A few of them actually took a step back as he turned his baleful gaze their way.

“Holy shit, are you sure?” Jones said.

“Yes.” She waved over one of the waitstaff, who was walking by with a tray of champagne. She grabbed a glass and downed it with one swallow.

“OK, so, interesting development, right? But that doesn’t change anything. Try to get close to him – see what he knows.”

“Got it.”

Diana ditched her glass and made her way over to that part of the room.

It took her several minutes to get close enough to even catch Neal’s eye. When he spotted her, his face didn’t flicker, didn’t betray even an iota of recognition. But the tense lines around his eyes softened somewhat and then he looked away.

Diana finally reached the velvet ropes, and stood in front of Neal. She did as many of the other guests were doing with the other seraphs and started to interview him. “You there,” she said, trying her best to sound imperious and unaffected by the situation.

He raised an eyebrow and looked her way.

“What’s your name?”

“Neal,” he replied, tossing his head.

Despite being objects up for bid, many of her fellow guests were showering the other seraphs with praise and flattery, so Diana thought it’d be an easy way to learn a few things. “You are very beautiful,” she said, because it was true. She may be a lesbian, but Diana had always found Neal attractive, and now it was as if his transformation had made him doubly so. His skin seemed clearer, his eyes brighter, and he held his wings - they were a shimmering, beautiful shade of near-pure white - slightly canted to the side, and they caught and reflected the sunlight that reflected off of the nearby infinity pool back toward him.

“Thank you,” he said, seemingly unaffected by her praise.

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.”

“Are they treating you well?”

He paused, the only flaw in the perfect mask he had constructed for the afternoon. “If it pleases you to think so.”

“What can you do?”

“I draw and I paint. I can cook. I sing. Just last night, I sang for an _old friend_ that came to visit.”

Diana glanced over at the black-suited security guard that stood nearby and carefully considered her response – clearly Neal had seen Peter recently, and she wanted more details. “Oh? That must have been pleasant, to see an old friend. How is he?”

“He is well,” Neal replied with emphasis. “He is a guest of my…master.” The last word clearly disgusted Neal to utter; he even shuddered.

Diana breathed a sigh of relief – Peter was at least alive. “Your master?”

“Owner, overlord, ruler, whatever term you prefer.”

Diana flinched – whatever Neal had been through at Keller’s hands, she almost didn’t want to know. “Your friend is a willing guest?”

Neal smiled ruefully. “Of course. My master finds my friend a very convenient person to keep around. He knows that if he keeps my friend safe, it will make me…more manageable. And gain for himself other…advantages.”

Diana nodded, not misunderstanding Neal’s meaning. Peter was Keller’s hostage and much more valuable alive than dead – as long as the FBI kept their distance and the auction was allowed to continue uninterrupted. Jones’ voice in her ear indicated as much.

“I think I would like to take you home with me today. Would you like that?”

“I would like nothing more than to leave this place with you, mistress,” Neal said, and there was no mistaking the sincerity in his tone.

“You will,” she promised, “because I have friends too and they’re going to want to meet you, I think. _Very_ soon.”

\----

_“Lord, I can’t believe we get stuck babysittin’ the Fed.”_

_“Quit your whining. As long as they pay us, why should we care?”_

Peter sat beside the door of the room he was being held in, listening to the conversation of the two guards outside. Keller had left him in here with Neal the night before and on some level, Peter was happy for it. Sick and in pain from the electrical current that Keller had inflicted on him, Neal had been too exhausted at first to protest when Peter cradled his head on his lap and pet his hair to soothe him. It reminded him of the old times, Neal sick with a flu he wouldn't admit to, El babying him, Peter watching over them both.

Neal seemed so fragile.

Which was funny, because it was clear that his transformation had changed him, and not just in the obvious way - he seemed to thrum with an inner power and vitality that was palpable. Yet Peter feared if Neal was pushed in the wrong way he might shatter.

As night wore on and he recovered, Neal at times was like his old self: charming, self-deprecating, cracking the occasional joke; but most of the time he seemed almost completely absent, lost in thoughts or memories that took him away completely. And when he finally slept, he shook and wept and spoke in languages Peter didn’t recognize.

It made Peter cry to see it, and he wondered what had happened to Neal over the last year and a half, what traumas had formed him into this damaged, alien shell of the man he once loved. _Still loved_.

 _”But I wanted to see them angels before this is all over,”_ the first guard continued. _”I barely caught a glimpse t’other day.”_

_“Trust me, they’re not angels, and you don’t want to get too close to the freaks. They’ll kill you if they get the chance.”_

_“Nah, you’re wrong. My mama said the angels watch o’er us. They’re here to protect us. What we’re doin’ is a sin.”_

“You’ve got that right,” Peter muttered

_”What we’re doing is getting paid, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”_

_“I want to see the angels.”_

_“Shut up already and open that door. It’s time we gave this guy some water or something.”_

For a second, Peter felt surprise and a little warmth that they cared enough about his well-being to bring him some water, but then he realized this situation might give him his only opportunity to escape, and he scrambled to his feet. With a silent prayer of thanks for the fact they’d neglected to tie him up or secure him in any way (“Freaking amateurs!” he’d thought earlier), he took up a position behind the door and dropped into a defensive crouch.

The door opened and Peter took advantage of the first man’s momentary confusion at not immediately seeing him to land a hard right against the side of his head. The man went down on one knee and Peter took his head between his hands and delivered his right knee square in the man’s face. He dropped like a stone.

By this time, the man’s partner had the time to reach for his sidearm. Peter spun and threw his shoulder against him, tackling him against the wall. The man’s gun hand bounced off and it clattered to the floor out of reach. Peter grabbed him by his shoulders and slammed him into the wall again, his head connecting, dazing him. Peter spun him, threw an arm around his throat and kept him in a sleeper hold until he passed out.

Panting, Peter dragged both men to the far side of the room. He searched them both, taking from them two loaded 9 mm guns, a cell phone and both their walkie talkies. He removed both their belts and shoelaces and tied their hands and feet up, finally gagging them each with their socks. He checked their bonds once more, then looked cautiously out into the hallway left, then right. He locked the door behind him and sprinted for the exit, looking for a safe spot from which to call Jones and send in the strike team in time to put an end to Matthew Keller’s operation once and for all.

\----

Diana sat in her seat in the second row of the auction, nervously chewing a thumbnail. She was normally more collected during a sting, but something didn’t sit right with her. She knew from Jones that Peter had escaped and that he’d ordered the assault and SWAT teams on standby aboard the Coast Guard ships offshore to move in. She figured they were perhaps twenty minutes from beginning the operation.

She hadn’t gotten another chance to speak with Neal, so he was completely in the dark. The auction had already started by the time the news about Peter reached her, and continued too quickly. Diana made mental notes of who had won each round, because even if the operation they had planned went south, she was going to personally track them all down and bring them to justice. Human trafficking hit a particular nerve with her, and there was no way she’d sit by and allow these poor people to be sold into what amounted to slavery.

The auctioneer Keller had hired – a man from Weatherby’s, and Diana made another mental note to find _him_ again someday – stepped aside as the final offering in the auction came up for bid. He handed the podium over to Keller as Neal was presented to those assembled. Somehow, Diana wasn’t surprised that the man would do the honors of selling Neal off to the highest bidder himself – it fit his personality profile perfectly to want to humiliate Neal in this way.

“My friends, I thank you for coming out this weekend. I know that the bidding has been fierce, and that many of you are disappointed not to have won, but I assure you there will others to look forward to.

“Now, this last one is very special to me,” he continued. He moved over to Neal and snaked two fingers under the silver collar he wore, tugging at it sharply. Neal flinched but gave no other reaction. He stood proudly on the dais, shoulders back and head held high, and Diana was a little proud of him for it. “He was one of the first in my collection, and I can say with conviction, the most accomplished and the most…talented.” He ran his hand down Neal’s chest and stomach as he said this, a leer on his face that made his meaning unmistakable. “Most talented. He’ll make someone _very happy_.”

Neal looked down on him and his eyes narrowed, but he made no other move and Keller backed away, a hand rubbing at his own throat. He turned back to the audience. “We’ll start the bidding at one million.”

There was a collective gasp in the audience; none of the others had started so high.

A man at the back that Diana recognized as a notorious Moscow-based crime boss raised his hand. “One million,” Keller said. “Do I have one-point-one?” An elderly man with an oxygen tank across the aisle from Diana poked at his caretaker to indicate a bid. “One-point-two?” Diana raised her own hand, eyeing Neal. The gratitude on his face was plain.

The bidding went on for some time, others in the crowd joining in, and Diana kept her hand in throughout - there was no way she was going to lose, not now. After several minutes, the price was north of ten million, and it was down to Diana and the Russian.

“Ten-point-five? Will you bid ten and a half million?” Keller was saying to Diana.

Before she could answer, Diana heard the sound of a gun being cocked, and a voice behind them all said, “Aw hell, why don’t we make it an even fifteen?”

All heads in the room turned toward the voice of the newcomer, who strode purposefully up the center aisle, gun aimed at Keller.

“Burke!” Keller said, stepping from behind the podium. The half dozen or so black-suited security men in the room all drew on Peter at the same time. In response, the personal bodyguards that accompanied half of the guests rose and shoved their bosses to the floor, drawing their own weapons and aiming them at the security guards. Diana stood and pulled her own weapon from her bag, and drew a bead on Keller as well. Keller looked at her, surprised and maybe just a bit disappointed, she thought.

“Hello, everyone.” Peter said, waving slightly with his left hand. “I’m Special Agent Peter Burke with the FBI. I hate to break up this little shindig, but I just thought I’d inform you all that SWAT teams have secured the dock area and security stations throughout the grounds, and the Coast Guard has the whole island surrounded. We should maybe all just relax.”

“I knew I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Keller said. He had his hand in his pocket.

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda, Keller. Keep your hands where I can see them.” Peter kept advancing up the aisle toward the dais, and Keller took a step forward as well. Diana didn’t like the way things were shaping up at all, and she could tell Neal didn’t either. He was watching both men, his posture rigid.

“I know you think you’ve won, Burke, but I’ve got a few cards left to play.” He pulled out a small black device and held it aloft. The seraphs, who had been ushered to another roped-off area at the edge of the crowd, gasped and huddled together. The youngest boy began to cry. Only Neal did not shrink back in fear. He turned toward Keller and glared at him.

Peter stopped his advance. “Easy now, easy. Before anyone gets hurt.”

Keller let out a bark of laughter. “Well, that’s all I’ve got left, isn’t it? Making sure someone gets hurt.” He looked over at Neal, and their eyes connected. “And that someone is you today, Neal. Sorry.”

With his other hand, Keller pulled a gun out from where it had been tucked at the small of his back, aimed it directly at Peter, and fired.

And then time seemed to stand still.

As Diana squeezed her own trigger in reaction to Keller’s movement, the security guards did as well, sending bullets toward both Peter and Diana within milliseconds. Peter’s own shot rang out at the same time, bullets sizzling through the air like angry bees.

In the same instant, a great voice rang out, uttering a single syllable that reverberated across the island. “NO!”

The bullets actually slowed in their trajectories, spinning in place in midair until all of their energy was spent, and then fell to the ground harmlessly. All eyes were now on Neal, as it was his voice that had called out, and he was a terrible and awesome sight to see.

Neal stood on the balls of his feet, arms stretched in front of him and wings extended to their full twelve foot span, primary feathers extended like beautiful fingers. He seemed larger than normal, somehow, and Diana noticed there was a white light emanating from within him, as if the muscles under his skin were liquid fire. His skin was a dark contrast, and seemed to struggle to contain the light - bits of it burst forth from his fingertips, nipples and groin. And his face – his eyes, mouth, nose literally glowed, the light shining out like a lighthouse beacon. Only his wings did not glow, which made them seem suddenly as dark as the summer sky before a thunderstorm.

Several of the guests reacted by dropping to their knees, and not a few crossed themselves and began to pray.

Peter lowered his gun to his side and called Neal’s name, but he did not seem to hear. Mouth agape, Diana lowered her own weapon, glancing over at Peter for guidance.

Keller looked at Neal, terrified, and aimed his gun at him, emptying his clip. His security team followed suit, and Diana and Peter had to hit the ground to avoid the crossfire.

But none of the bullets reached their target. As before, they stopped in midair, spun and fell harmlessly to the ground. But Keller had one more card left to play. He held up the remote control, waving it in front of Neal as if it were a talisman.

Neal looked down on him, and Diana noticed an expression of pure hatred and contempt flit across his face. He held his hand up, palm outward, and said, “STOP!” and once again that one word reverberated throughout the place. It seemed to Diana that she could actually feel it at a cellular level, such was its power, and her mind boggled to understand what that even meant.

Keller’s arm was flung behind him with such force, that Diana could swear she heard bones break. He howled in agony as the remote control device flew from his fingers and skidded away. Neal rotated his arm and made a beckoning gesture. Keller was drawn to him, his heels kicking uselessly at the floor of the dais. “No! No!” he screamed, but he was unable to resist whatever power Neal was exercising over him.

Keller fell to his knees, clasped his hands and held them up to Neal in a silent plea for mercy that would never come. “Neal!” he said, his last word.

Neal placed his hands on either side of Keller’s head. Keller convulsed once, his body went rigid and he dropped to the floor.

Neal looked down on Keller’s dead body and took a stumbling step forward. He fell to his own knees, his hands fisted at his sides and, throwing his head back, let loose a loud, keening wail that was filled with rage and heartbreak both. His fellow seraphs took up the sound as well, their voices rising with his, sharing in his outburst of grief and horror and despair.

Any of the guests that hadn’t fled when the shooting had started were forced to cover their ears. Peter stumbled to his feet and ran towards the dais.

“Neal!” he yelled, grasping Neal by the wrist. “Stop it, please stop it!”

At Peter’s touch, Neal immediately stopped, as did the others. The light within him dissipated and he lowered his wings, furling them behind him with a soft _whoosh_. He looked at Peter, and his face crumpled in an agony of sorrow. “Oh, Peter, what have I done?” he whispered.

“Shh, it’s OK,” Peter said, grasping onto Neal’s hand with both of his. “It’s OK.”

Neal shook his head. “No. No, it’s not.” He looked beyond grief stricken, as if his soul had broken. He pulled his hand away and stood. He gazed down at Peter, tears cascading down his face. “What am I?” he cried. “What am I?”

Then he turned and ran for the edge of the patio, throwing himself over the edge. A second later, he reappeared, wings spread, and flew back over the house and out of sight.

Peter ran after him, screaming, “Neal! Neal!” but he did not even look back.

\----

Peter scrambled along the rocks towards the cliff’s edge, not entirely convinced he wouldn’t break an ankle. He could see Neal perched on a large outcropping of rock at the edge, sitting on his haunches and staring out to sea. He knew Neal had heard him coming, but his head didn’t turn to acknowledge Peter until he was standing over him.

“How’d you find me?”

“The boy, Oliver. He said you like to come up here.”

“I like to imagine I can see New York from here. Isn’t that stupid?”

“No. You miss your home.”

Neal closed his eyes. The word “home” caused him some pain, Peter thought. “I have the key to that collar,” Peter continued.

Neal stood, faced Peter and lifted his chin so that Peter could remove it. Peter had thought Neal would want to do it himself.

“Seems we’re always in these positions – you freeing me,” Neal commented.

“No, Neal. You free yourself,” Peter pointed out.

He grasped the collar with his left hand and inserted the key. One quarter turn and the thing disengaged. He opened it and pulled it from around Neal’s neck. He noticed there were welts on Neal’s skin when he removed it, from where it had chafed, and it took everything he had in him not to touch them, soothe them.

“You freed the others?” Peter nodded. “What will happen to them?”

“They’ll be returned to their homes, their families.”

“Not Oliver. He, um, his father _sold him_ to Keller.”

“OK, we’ll get social services involved.”

“And Moira – her house burned when they grabbed her. She doesn’t have a home, not really.”

Peter put his hand on Neal’s wrist and squeezed. “We’ll get them all to safety, Neal, I promise.”

“Thank you.” He sank back down into his former position, and stared out at the ocean again.

Peter sat down next to him. “What about you? Are you coming home?”

“I don’t have a home.”

“Don’t say that. You have a home with me and El, and the people who love you.”

“I’ll rephrase. I _can’t_ go home.”

Peter didn’t miss the bitterness in his voice. “Why not?”

Neal flicked his wings against himself, and they brushed against Peter’s back. “I would think that’s pretty obvious.”

“Not to me.”

“I don’t see me fitting in at the annual block party.”

“You never fit in at the annual block party, Neal.”

Neal actually laughed. “True. But that’s not why.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I’m dangerous, Peter.”

Peter understood Neal’s feelings if not his conclusion. “Is that why you didn’t try to escape before?”

“I didn’t know I could _do that_ before. And if I did, I’m not sure that Keller wouldn’t have hurt the others anyway. He is – _was_ – a sadistic bastard.” He started to shake suddenly as the realization hit him. “Oh my God, Peter, I’ve killed a man,” he whispered. Tears filled his eyes. “What am I? What sort of monster am I?”

Peter turned, put his hands on either side of Neal’s head and pulled him close; Neal’s eyes closed, and the tears flowed down his cheeks. “Look at me, Neal.” He opened his eyes. “You’re no monster. You’re a man. A noble, brave, brilliant _man_ , and what you did today saved lives. You of all people can imagine the fates the others would have been consigned to if you hadn’t acted today. You saved them, and that’s got to count for something.”

Neal closed his eyes again and Peter pressed his forehead against Neal’s. “It counts for something,” Peter repeated quietly, and then kissed him.

They kissed for a full minute, and it was sweet and gentle, and Peter almost believed he’d changed Neal’s mind. When they parted, Peter put his hand on the side of Neal’s face, caressed his cheekbone with his thumb. “Please let me help you. I can ease your burden. Let me.”

Neal took Peter’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing his palm. “I’m so grateful for that. But I can’t come with you. I’m afraid of what I am, what I’m capable of. Until I understand what that is, until I know I’m not a danger to anyone, I can’t be with people. I’m sorry.” He stood. “I’m sorry.”

Peter scrambled to his feet. Neal unfurled his wings, stretching them, letting the wind caress the feathers. “Please don’t go - where will you go?” There were tears now in Peter’s eyes too.

“I’ll figure it out. You know I will.”

Peter nodded.

“I love you, Peter. I just…” For once in his life, words failed Neal Caffrey.

He turned and Peter’s heart nearly stopped as Neal dove off the edge of the cliff. Peter leaned over and watched as Neal plummeted head first down the cliff’s face before unfurling his wings at the last possible second and gliding out over the waves. He flapped his wings and ascended, caught an updraft and sailed up until he was level with Peter once more. Neal held his arm up in a gesture of farewell, then turned westward and flew into the now-setting sun. He didn’t look back.

The thrill of seeing Neal fly soon dissipated as Peter realized he’d lost him all over again. He looked down at his hands, saw that he still held the silver collar that had kept Neal a prisoner all these months. He threw it as hard as he could out over the ocean, imagined he could see it hit the water, but he lost track of it soon after releasing it. He turned and headed back to the house.

He still had a job to do.

\----

SIX MONTHS LATER

Elizabeth puttered around the kitchen, putting away the things she’d gotten from the Farmers’ Market earlier in the day and clearing everything up before starting dinner. She loved early Fall – it was still warm enough for the last of summer’s bounty to be available, yet there was a delicious nip in the air in the evenings that was the perfect excuse to get a fire going. As she was doing a mental inventory of her pantry, trying to decide if she had the ingredients for an apple crisp, Satchmo gave a series of short, loud barks at the back door that usually meant something had gotten him excited.

“What’s goin’ on, Satch? Is Maisy’s daddy taking her for a walk?” Maisy was another yellow Lab that lived around the corner, and her owner usually took her for a walk down the common alleyway between the Burkes' block and the one behind.

She glanced over and Satch was wagging his tail so furiously, he was down on his haunches. He pawed at the unlocked screen door and eventually got himself out, the door banging shut behind him. El wasn’t worried - their yard was fenced-in - but she wondered what might have gotten the dog so excited he’d make a break for it. She dropped the chard she was rinsing into the sink and shut off the water, grabbed a kitchen towel and headed to the door to investigate.

She found Satchmo lying on his back at the feet of a man who stood at the far end of the patio. He was crouched down and rubbing the dog’s belly, worrying his ears and murmuring nonsense to him. Normally, the sight of a man in her backyard would be cause for alarm, but Elizabeth was not frightened.

Because this man was Neal.

He stood when he heard her open the door and pulled at his pant leg nervously with the thumb and forefinger on his right hand. His hair was longer than usual, and a scruffy beard covered his cheeks and jaw, but he looked tan and healthy and so very _alive_ standing there.

“Elizabeth…” he began to say.

She rushed over to him, letting the door slam behind her, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Surprised, he held his hands out at his sides, but eventually put his arms around her back and held her close. She pulled away, buried her nose in his neck and breathed in the scent of him. “At last,” she whispered.

“Come again?”

“You’ve come home to us at last,” she said, looking up at him with tears in her eyes.

“Hon, what was the dog barking at?” Peter was saying from inside the house. He pushed open the screen door, saw Neal with Elizabeth, and dropped the hammer he held.

Elizabeth turned to him, her hand entwined with Neal’s and said, “Oh Peter, look who’s come home at last!”

Peter crossed the space between them in two strides and wrapped his arms around his wife and lover. He hesitated as he buried his hand in the soft feathers of the wings folded along Neal’s back – did he mind being touched in this way? – but he reasoned they would figure it all out eventually. He pulled Neal in tight and kissed him deeply, so grateful to have him in his arms again, relieved to have him _home_ again, safe.

He pulled back and looked into Neal’s eyes and saw none of the pain and self-doubt that had been there the last time they saw each other. Whatever had happened in the interim – whatever journey Neal had undertaken or answers he’d found, what he saw before him was a man at peace with himself and the bizarre road his life had put him on. And Peter knew he wanted nothing more than to travel it with him from this point on.

As Neal kissed him back, Peter sensed the same relief – or so he thought – and he knew they’d never be parted again.

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
